CHAPTER SEVEN
Heathrow Airport
London, England
The 747 set down in fog thicker than anything Rory had ever seen. Even Bud, who had been completely silent since leaving Tel Aviv the day before, commented on the blanket of clouds to the man across the aisle. Staring into the hazy morning as the plane taxied to the terminal, Rory wasn’t particularly interested in the fog. All she could ponder was the fact that this was the first time Sir Kieran had been home in over eight hundred years.
The tears threatened again, as they had been hovering near the surface for the past twenty-four hours. Leaving David to oversee the clean-up of the dig, Rory and Bud, two British embassy officials and four Israeli security guards escorted Sir Kieran and his possessions to the Tel Aviv Airport. The knight and his artifacts had been carefully loaded into the belly of the British Airways plane and personally secured by Bud. When the jumbo jet took off, she finally gave up the struggle against the tears and let them come.
Sir Kieran was going home.
Athens Airport had been a nightmare. Their layover had been over eight hours because of a bomb threat and Rory spent the time seated in the terminal next to their plane, watching gun-toting soldiers patrol the area. One of the Israeli security men told her it wasn’t unusual for Athens Airport to be swarming with men bearing AK-47 assault rifles, but Rory still found the situation unnerving. And the fact that she couldn’t spend any time with Sir Kieran in the bowels of the plane only made it worse.
From Athens, the flight was direct to London. Bud sat beside her the entire time, writing in his old leather notebook and completely silent. Ever since he had made his confession the day before, he hadn’t said a word to her. Rory couldn’t stand the tension between them, especially since she needed his comfort now more than ever. But in truth, she wasn’t sure what to say to him. She couldn’t give him any hope, any encouragement, and she suspected he knew it.
Therefore, she was resigned to the brittle silence between them and turned her attention to the brilliant skies beyond the window, pondering the coming separation between herself and Sir Kieran. She knew that she was doing the right thing by returning him home but wondered if she ever recover from her noble, if not reluctant, sacrifice.
It was a heartache that increased when the plane landed and the captain wished everyone a pleasant stay in England. The Israeli guards were up, disembarking with the embassy officials who had already obtained clearance to proceed to the tarmac. Bud collected his carry-on, as did Rory, and they silently followed the group of men to the blacktop below.
It was a cold day. Rory was so used to scorching temperatures that she found the change refreshing. Dressed in slim-fit jeans, boots, a sweater and her camel-hair coat, her long blond hair was stylishly pulled back from her face and gathered in a clip. But even if her appearance was sharp, the gleam in the hazel eyes belied the dullness of her soul; watching as the belly hatch was opened, the Israelis were into the hold before the airline employees could move a muscle.
A forklift was rolled out, removing the massive casket so loving built by the Turkish workers. The Israeli guards were all over the coffin, like an odd army of pallbearers, but Rory would not be deterred from her determination to check the body; she hadn’t seen Sir Kieran since they had left the dig and she wanted to make sure he had survived his journey intact. But more than that, she was simply desperate to see him. Like an addiction, she had to feed her habit.
“Get me a crowbar,” she snapped to one of the British officials, the man giving her an intolerant look before passing the order on to an airline employee.
But Rory didn’t care what the British thought of her manners; all Americans were pushy and loud and she was simply verifying the stereotype. Moving for the casket, she pushed between the Israeli guards and ran her hands over the box, making sure it hadn’t been damaged by the turbulence they had experienced over the Alps. Bud came up behind her, a large screwdriver in his hand.
“Here,” he said quietly. “This ought to work.”
It was the first thing he had said to her in nearly a day. Rory didn’t reply, merely standing aside as he worked at the seal. The Israeli guards began to help, prying their fingers under the lid and pulling as Bud gained leverage. One side of the cover had been hinged, but the lid had been nailed shut for extra security during transport. Just as Bud reached the fourth and final nail, his progress was abruptly interrupted.
“Is that truly necessary?”
Rory turned, somewhat surprised, to find piercing blue eyes fixed on her. Giving the tall, pleasingly-built man the once-over, she cocked a well-defined eyebrow.
“Who are you?”
The Israeli guards already had their weapons drawn as the man put up a supplicating hand. “I have security clearance, I assure you,” he said, very slowly reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a pink piece of paper. “See? Written permission.”
Rory, still wary, took the paper from his hand and unfolded it. Glancing over the official form, she handed it to one of the embassy aides. “Mr. Corbin, how can I help you?”
The man smiled faintly, a rather handsome fellow in his late thirties. “Dr. Rory Osgrove, I presume?”
“Yes.”
Corbin’s gaze seemed to linger on her a moment. “Dr. Becker said I’d find you here. I’ve come on official business. I represent the Hage family.”
Rory’s uncertainty of the man was fading, being replaced by a stunning dislike. “A lawyer?”
He nodded. “I’ve recently been in touch with Dr. Becker at the University of California San Marcos and he was gracious enough to inform me of your flight and arrival time,” glancing over Rory’s head, his gaze fixed on the coffin. “Sir Kieran Hage, I presume?”
Rory could feel her defenses going up. She hated this man already. It wasn’t merely that he represented the relatives determined to snatch Sir Kieran away from her, but the mere aura about him was disturbing. He made her uncomfortable. “I was just about to check him to make sure he hadn’t suffered any damage in transport,” she said. “It will only take a minute if you’ll allow me to…”
Steven Corbin held up a hand, politely, to interrupt her. “That won’t be necessary, Dr. Osgrove. I’m sure the corpse is in fine shape,” he pushed past her, moving toward Bud and the half-opened lid. “Seal it back up, if you would. I will be taking Sir Kieran to the morgue at Middlesex Hospital where several professionals hired by the Hage family are eagerly awaiting his arrival.”
Rory’s thinly-held composure snapped. “What are you talking about?” she said, putting herself protectively between the casket and Corbin. “We’ve arranged to take Sir Kieran to the University of Oxford, where he’ll be x-rayed and studied for a few days before being placed in the custody of his descendents.”
Corbin’s piercing blue eyes were suddenly hard. “Plans have been altered, Dr. Osgrove. Sir Kieran is to be placed in immediate family custody.”
Behind Rory, Bud cleared his throat and stepped forward. She wasn’t surprised when she felt his warm hand go about her arm, gently, pulling her away from the confrontation.
“Look, Mr. Corbin,” he began evenly. “I’m Dr. Dietrich, supervising archaeologist on this dig. Until such time as the university officially places Sir Kieran within his family’s custody, he is still our property. We’ve already made plans for him and I have no intention of deviating.”
Corbin looked at Bud as one man would size up a potential enemy; when the chips were down, Bud could be a formidable opponent and it was clear that Corbin sensed that. After a moment, he pushed slowly into another pocket.
“If I may, Dr. Dietrich,” he removed another piece of neatly folded paper, extending it to Bud. “From your director.”
Bud’s jaw ticked as he unfolded the paper and read it. Rory saw a faint flush come to his cheeks and she was seized with immediate concern.
“What does it say, Bud?”
He sighed, looking for the proper words as Rory hung over his shoulder, trying to read the message. But Bud wanted to tell her himself and attempted to move away, hoping he could relay the news in a manner that would ease her into the reality of the situation. Rory, however, refused to allow him to move; putting one arm around his waist and the other on the hand clutching the paper, she read it completely.
Bud watched her face, just inches from his own. When she had finished reading the facsimile message, he was mildly surprised to note that her features held no discernable reaction. But her somewhat-wild gaze had moved to the lawyer, like a cat moving for a mouse, and Bud literally reached out to prevent her from advancing on him.
“Becker gave his permission for the family to take custody of the body the moment we landed, Rory,” he said softly, trying to preclude her from taking her aggressions out on Corbin. “Remember, we did agree to return it. It was fully within Becker’s right to hand it over sooner than expected, considering we had no valid excuse to delay the transfer. The family is willing to take full responsibility for all tests and research on the corpse.”
Rory swallowed, hard, and Bud could see that her controlled facade was purely an act. “But… we had planned to study him ourselves, Bud. Lacking the proper facilities at Nahariya, we weren’t able to do a complete study of the man and this was going to be our chance given the appropriate implements at Oxford. Good Lord, this is our find! Can’t we even complete what we’ve started?”
“There are several professionals prepared to do just that, Dr. Osgrove,” Corbin said confidently. “The Hage family has recruited a historian from the University of Sussex, a professor specializing in Medieval biology, a forensic pathologist from Middlesex Hospital, and a…”
“No!” Rory suddenly roared. “No autopsy!”
Corbin looked somewhat surprised. “What do you mean? Have you already done one?”
Before Rory could respond, Bud pulled her against him, forcefully, to shut her up. “Given Sir Kieran’s perfect state, we determined an autopsy to be unnecessary. We arranged to have the body x-rayed at Oxford, a procedure considered a lot less intrusive to his fragile composition. There’s no need to cut him open.”
Corbin eyed Rory as she struggled with her composure. “That will be for the pathologist to decide,” he said, pulling his gloves tight against the chill wind that was kicking up. “If everything is collected, then I have arranged for an armored car to carry the valuables to the University of Sussex where they will be extensively studied. The family has donated the armor to the British Museum, by the way. And the broadsword will have a place of honor in the museum’s collection of medieval swords.”
Rory’s face went from a mottled red to a sickly gray. “They’re not going to bury him in his armor?” she whispered.
“And waste such a fantastic piece of history?” Corbin snorted as if she were an idiot. “I should say not.”
The rage building within Rory’s heart was vanished, replaced by disbelief. Ignoring the icy wind whipping about the tarmac, her hazel eyes were wide with untamed emotion.
“But you have to bury him in his armor,” she said, her voice tight. “To a Medieval knight, his armor was a physical part of him. To be buried without it was to dishonor the knight completely.”
Corbin cocked an intolerant eyebrow. “Your ideals of Medieval romance are touching, Dr. Osgrove, but they fail to encompass the reality of modern times. Sir Kieran Hage is dead, with or without his armor, and his family is being most gracious by donating the valuable pieces for the country’s enrichment.”
“It’s not idealistic romance, Mr. Corbin,” she shot back. “What I am saying is hard fact; if Sir Kieran is buried without his armor, it will be a disgrace to both him and the Hage family. And the mere suggestion that he be buried without his broadsword is ludicrous; the weapon, even more than the armor, was a part of the knight’s very soul.”
Piercing blue eyes studied her a moment longer before looking to Bud. “You seem to be more rational than your spirited young colleague, Dr. Dietrich. Maybe you can explain to her that it is no longer the time of King Richard the Lionheart or Frederick of Barbarossa. We are far more practical these days.”
Bud’s expression was intense. “I would be glad to explain, if you will kindly justify how a country who is so dedicated to their history that they would threaten an international lawsuit over an American archaeological find could then so callously treat the very object of their interest by disregarding some very basic facts. Nothing Dr. Osgrove has said is untrue or exaggerated, Mr. Corbin. I find the fact that Sir Kieran is going to be buried without his armor completely shocking.”
A faint mist began to fall as Corbin sighed faintly; he didn’t have time for the hysterics of the two American archaeologists. He had a job to do and was determined to accomplish it regardless of the emotions involved. Pulling his collar tight, he turned to the embassy officials behind him.
“I’ve a truck waiting to take us to the armored vehicle,” he said crisply. “We’ve a long way to go and I’d like to get moving.”
So they were taking him. Just like that. Rory looked at Bud, such horror in her eyes that he felt the physical impact, reaching out to destroy his heart. But there was nothing he could do to prevent Sir Kieran from being taken away, as all channels had been legally maneuvered by the proper authorities and the crusader was no longer the property of the University of San Marcos.
“Bud…” she whispered.
He grabbed her arms, holding them tightly. The defenses that had been up since his personal confession the day before were suddenly gone, vanished as the emotion in her face reached deep into his soul. He knew she didn’t love him, but that didn’t stop him from abandoning his self-protection in order to comfort her. “I know, honey. It’s all right. They’ll be good to him.”
Directly behind them, the coffin was being loaded onto a small flatbed truck with British Airways logos on the doors. Rory heard the forklift jerk into gear and she whirled about, pulling one arm free of Bud’s grasp as he struggled to keep hold of her. Reaching out, she was only able to draw an index finger along the side of the coffin as it moved past, flanked by the Israelis. Bud was positive that if he lost his grip, she would have thrown herself on the casket as if to never let it go.
When the coffin slammed against the bed of the truck, Rory started violently. All she could think, see or feel was Sir Kieran’s body being unceremoniously jerked around by men more concerned with protecting him than preserving him. Her breathing was coming in harsh gasps by the time several boxes containing the knight’s possessions were loaded behind the casket, the pain in her heart finding a tangible release in the foggy puffs of air.
With a lingering glance to the two American archaeologists, Corbin climbed into the cab of the truck, followed by the two embassy aides. The Israeli guards jumped onto the bed of the rig, their weapons drawn as if they were expecting trouble. Rory watched, her mouth open and her heart in her throat, as one of the soldiers sat carelessly on the end of the casket. As if they had little respect or conscience for the magnificent man inside.
“Bud…”
“What, honey?”
“They’re taking him.”
“I know.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, watching as the truck lurched into gear and rumbled down the tarmac. It had all happened too fast, too forcefully, and her mind was whirling with the reality of the situation. When she finally turned to Bud, her eyes were filled with an ocean of painful tears.
“I don’t want to give him up!” she sobbed. “I want him back! Get him back, Bud!”
Of all the times he had quashed the urge to pull her into a powerful embrace, now was not one of them. His muscular arms went about her, pulling her tightly against him as if to forcibly chase away her sorrows. Rory’s face was buried in the crook of Bud’s neck, weeping as if her heart was breaking.
“I want him back,” she cried softly. “Please, Bud… oh, please, go get him back.”
His own eyes were stinging with tears, ignoring the mist and the cold as he cradled Rory against him on the glistening tarmac. The world around them was busy and brusque, but still, he continued to hold her.
“I can’t, honey,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “He belongs to his family now. There’s nothing I can do.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t.”
She continued to sob pitifully, so much pain and grief evident. “But…but they don’t even care. They’re going to bury him without his armor. And his sword; if his body is simply dead, surely they’re going to kill his soul.”
He rocked her gently, listening to her gut-wrenching sobs. “He’ll be properly buried, honey. We’ll see to it, won’t we? Becker arranged for us to attend the internment.”
She suddenly pulled back, her gorgeous hair mussed and her face tense with emotion. “And I’ll give that family an earful, damn them! How dare they demand Sir Kieran’s return only to show such disrespect for his honor! I swear I’m going to…”
He put gloved fingers over her mouth, silencing her tirade. “You’re not going to do anything. You’re going to present the perfect picture of a dignified professional and if there is to be any protest of this situation, we’ll do it through proper means. The last thing we need is for you to get in a fist-fight over Sir Kieran’s honor.”
She was angry and hurt, pouting and dazed. “Somebody’s got to defend him,” she muttered, her head aching with jet-lag as she struggled to get a handle on her tears. “I just can’t believe they took him so quickly, Bud. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye.”
He sighed heavily, his eyes full of compassion. Noticing that the mist was growing heavier, he pulled her into the curve of his torso and gently led her toward the terminal doors. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said gently, stooping down to pick up their carry-on bags resting on the pavement. “Let’s get a good meal and some sleep and then I’ll give Becker a call. I’d say he has a bit of explaining to do about recent events.”
Rory was exhausted. Losing Sir Kieran was nearly more than she could handle and her emotional fatigue was growing by the minute. Laying her head wearily on Bud’s shoulder, she felt as if she could sleep for a hundred years. Just long enough to wake up and realize that this entire episode had been a horrible nightmare; were she able to go back in time to the point where Sir Kieran was still in her possession, she would never let him out of her sight. Ever.
Her crown. Her knight. Everything was gone. By the time they hit the warm, stale air of the terminal, she had started crying again.
*
It had been raining steadily since leaving the airport. Taking the subway, or the Underground as the British called it, Rory and Bud had taken the Piccadilly line to the Central line, disembarking at Lancaster Gate. The small hotel that the university had secured for them was right across the street, a quaint hostel that Becker’s wife was very fond of. Bud had carried all of the bags except for Rory’s carry-on, checking them both into the Parkwood Hotel just after noontime.
The landlady was warm and gracious, directing them up the stairs to their adjacent rooms. Rory hardly noticed the lovely room with yellow chintz wallpaper and matching bedspread, ignoring it all as Bud set her single large suitcase just inside the door. The landlady offered to bring them some tea and he agreed readily, hoping the warm drink would aid Rory’s mental state. Since the moment they’d left Heathrow, she’d hardly stopped crying.
Oddly enough, he was more concerned for her when she finally stopped weeping. Her mascara was smeared, her nose red and irritated as she seemed to wander aimlessly across the room. Setting her carry-on to the bed, she proceeded to struggle from her coat. Bud pulled it off her arms and laid it across a chair, wondering if it would be entirely wise to leave her alone at this moment. His baggage was still in the open door, the key to his own room lodged in his hand.
“I should go put my stuff in my room,” he said softly. “Are you going to be all right for a minute?”
She nodded, a weak smile coming to her pale lips. “I’m not an invalid, Bud. Go ahead and unpack. I’ll be fine.”
He scratched his head in an uncertain gesture, glancing to the window lined with the same beautiful yellow chintz material. Outside, the weather was gloomy to match their mood.
“All right,” he finally sighed, moving for the door. “I’m just across the hall if you need me, ok?”
Rory nodded faintly, her gaze lingering on her overstuffed tote bag. After a moment, she reached out and began fumbling with the fastens. Bud was in the process of collecting his beat-up Samsonite and his canvas carry-on, pausing in his quest to leave the room when Rory’s actions caught his attention.
“What’s the matter? Are you missing something?”
She shook her head, brushing a stray lock of long blond hair from her face. Suddenly, the jade-green eyes were on him and the pale lips were twisted in a wicked smirk. Puzzled by the odd expression, Bud cocked a curious eyebrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, her movements slowing as she refocused on the large tote bag. “Just making sure everything is here.”
“What does that mean?”
She drew in a deep breath, an amazingly tranquil sound after her marathon crying jag. Bud’s curiosity was growing as she sat on the bed, turning to look at him with a somewhat mischievous expression.
“You’re going to be angry with me.”
“For what?”
She dug into the bag, removing the object of her search. “For this.”
It was Sir Kieran’s journal. Bud stared at it a moment, hardly grasping what he was seeing, but truthfully not all that surprised. The Samsonite and the canvas carry-on hit the floor with a thud and the bedroom door slammed shut with heavy force.
“Rory, what in the hell are you doing with that?” he demanded, moving toward the bed.
Her expression hardened and she lowered her gaze, looking to the ancient book. “What does it look like? I kept it.”
“You can’t keep it,” he hissed, his ice-blue eyes blazing. “Do you know what sort of trouble you could get into? Christ, Rory, what are you thinking?”
She continued to stare at the journal, trying to maintain her calm. Even though she knew he would become angry with her, still, Bud was so mild-mannered that his fury intimidated her. But she wasn’t going to back down; not yet, anyway.
“I’m thinking to keep it, at least for a little while,” she said quietly. “Remember, we were planning on spending a few more days with Sir Kieran. I kept it with me, afraid that if I put it in the inventory boxes it would become damaged. Besides, I was going to return it to the family when we were finished.”
“You’re going to return it now,” he seethed quietly, his cheeks flushed. “I honestly can’t believe you’d do something this stupid. Christ, Rory, you’ve stolen something that doesn’t belong to you. Didn’t you think that they’d discover it missing when they went over the artifact inventory?”
“If you recall, I did the inventory myself,” she suddenly snapped. “And this isn’t on it.”
He froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. The air between them was suddenly silent and still, in sharp contrast to the raging that he been going on not a moment earlier. Hazel eyes were riveted to ice-blue, the thunder from the storm outside all but penetrating the tension in the room.
“Why?” he finally managed to rasp.
Her chest was heaving with emotion and she tore her eyes away, looking once again to the journal that had cemented her most powerful obsession. Now that the body was gone, it was her only link to the magnificent knight and the mystery he harbored. But even more than symbolizing the bond between herself and the elusive crown of thorns, it was the sole representation of the power Sir Kieran held over her. Knowing that for him and him alone she was willing to lie, to steal, and to jeopardize everything she had worked for just to keep him with her.
“Because,” she whispered. “I was still working on some of the more illegible passages. I never meant to steal it because I honestly thought we’d have a few more days with him and I planned to use the time to transcribe more pages. And when I did the inventory from Dave’s initial indexing, I left it off because it was technically still in my possession and not a part of the tally. My motives weren’t covert in the least until Corbin showed up demanding Sir Kieran’s body. And there was no way I was going to hand over Sir Kieran’s journal to that bastard. No way in hell.”
Bud stared at her, not knowing what to believe. Not knowing if she was trying to take advantage of their relationship, confident he wouldn’t condemn her for her unauthorized actions because of the emotions he felt for her. After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“I wish to God that we’d never found that damn knight,” he muttered, turning away from her. “Everything was fine until we came across him. Now, it’s as if the entire situation is out of control and I don’t like the direction it’s heading.”
“What you mean to say is that I’m obsessed with him.”
He paused, his back to her. After a moment, he ran his fingers through his cropped blond hair. “Yeah,” he whispered. “You are. I don’t like what it’s doing to you. It’s like… like you’re turning into something I don’t recognize.”
Rory stared at the back of his head, pondering his words. She knew he was correct; nothing was right any longer, or normal. Ever since she had laid eyes on the swathed bundle in the shallow grave, it was as if everything had somehow changed. She had changed.
It was a change she didn’t like. Sir Kieran was out of her control, in the custody of his family. There was nothing she could do for him any longer and it was important that she come to terms with the situation. Any more refusal to acknowledge the reality of events and she could very well find herself in a lot of trouble.
Trouble in the form of the journal in her hands. She had told Bud the truth, how she had kept it with her simply to finish transcribing it. But on the other hand, she’d kept the journal with her since the moment of its discovery and the thought of relinquishing it was a painful concept. She knew Bud was having difficulty believing her and she only had herself to blame. Since the moment they had discovered the crusader, she’d become an emotional bundle with an obsession for a dead man. A dead man and his unreachable knowledge.
It didn’t seem to matter any longer that Sir Kieran apparently knew the location of the crown of thorns. More than the ancient diadem, Rory was consumed with the knight and his fascinating life. But her magnificent warrior was gone, and the reality was like an open wound in the center of her heart. Like anything else, it would take time to heal. But she had to start somewhere.
“I’m sorry, Bud,” she murmured, the tears that had so recently fled returning with a vengeance. “I… I’ve just never faced a situation like this. I can’t help myself from getting involved.”
He turned to her, feeling himself relent when he knew full well that he shouldn’t. But Rory was starting to cry just when he had succeeded in calming her, and he was grieved by the return of her tears. If anyone had allowed themselves to get too involved with the situation, he was certainly one to blame. He didn’t even have the good sense to be on his guard as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
“It would have been pretty hard not to have become involved,” he said softly. “And I’m not really angry with you. But you’ve got to give the journal back, honey. You can’t keep it.”
“I know,” she sniffed, looking to the aged leather volume. “Maybe my keeping it was a subconscious attempt to seek revenge against Sir Kieran’s family; they kept the body, but I kept his thoughts and hopes and dreams.”
Bud crossed his arms, leaning against the canopy post. “So you can still have all of that even if you return the book. We’ll find a printer tomorrow and copy the pages.”
She nodded in resigned agreement, wiping at the last of her tears and setting the book to the end of the bed, next to Bud. Throwing her tote bag on the floor, she fell back on the mattress with an exhausted sigh. Bud watched her snuggle into the pillows, abruptly finding himself wondering what it would be like to make love to her. He was so close he could almost taste it.
“You’re tired,” he said, turning away before he jumped onto the bed next to her. “The landlady was bringing up some tea. I’ll tell her to hold off while you sleep.”
Rory watched him move for the door, the lethargy of his movements, the fatigue in his voice. She had caused this, she knew, wreaking havoc with his emotional state with her mood swings and irrational actions. He was such a good man, always considerate of her feelings, always looking out for her. Even though she didn’t want a husband, someone like Bud Dietrich would be the perfect mate; devoted, loving, kind. Maybe she wasn’t being fair by not giving him a chance. Now that her knight was vanished and her dreams were quashed, maybe she needed someone like Bud to ease her out of her addiction. To bring her back to reality.
In truth, she was hurting. Maybe she just needed a little comfort at the risk of exploring her confused feelings. At the risk of encouraging Bud’s devotion. Maybe it was exactly what she needed at the moment.
He was almost to the door. “Bud?” she called softly.
He paused, reaching for his bags. Outside, the thunder had commenced, rattling the windows with its intensity. She met his inquisitive gaze, reaching up a hand to turn out the brass lamp.
The room was dim, the storm outside gaining speed. Rory snuggled into the comforter, listening to the driving rain.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered. “Please… will you stay with me?”
Bud could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The door remained closed and the luggage on the floor. “Uh… yeah,” he said softly, moving hesitantly for the chair next to the bed. But Rory stopped him.
“No, not the chair,” she said, patting the mattress behind her. “Here.”
The gushing in his ears had turned to a roaring river. Bud was hardly capable of forming a rational thought as he moved to the other side of the bed, lowering his muscular frame down beside her and wondering if this was an entirely wise decision on his part. He sat up against the pillows, stiffly, feeling like a giddy teenager on the verge of loosing his innocence. The emotions surging through his veins were wild and wonderful and far too powerful to believe. Far too powerful to deny.
Christ, he couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Lay down, Bud,” Rory rolled onto her back, gazing up at him. Her swollen eyes were half-lidded, shadowed with fatigue. “It’s cold. Pull the edge of the comforter up around us.”
He was actually shaking as he slid down on the bed, dutifully reaching over to pull up the fluffy comforter. Covering them both, he found himself pressed up against Rory’s warm back, thinking she felt more wonderful than he had ever imagined.
Much to his surprise and disbelief, she seemed to snuggle back against him, sighing with comfort. He kept trying to figure out where to put his right arm, either tucked in between their two bodies or draped over her torso, awkwardly trying to find a position that wasn’t too suggestive or intimate or just plain weird. He heard Rory laugh softly.
“You can put your arm around me, Bud. I don’t mind.”
He did, almost fainting with the sensation of her in his arms. But he suddenly found the need to make one thing perfectly clear before they proceeded any further. Feeling as if he was choking over the mere suggestion, he swallowed hard and hoped he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. Christ, it was the hardest question he had ever had to ask. But for sanity’s sake, he felt he had to.
“Rory?”
“Hmm?” she was nearly asleep.
“Are you…” swallowing hard, he tried again. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
She laughed again, moving his arm to a comfortable position around her waist. Pulling the comforter close, she sighed. “Not at the moment. I… I guess I just need a little comfort, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
“Disappointed?”
“Well… yes.”
She chuckled softly, listening to the storm outside and feeling quite content lying in Bud’s arms. “Trust me, Bud. If I was trying to seduce you, you wouldn’t have to ask. You’d know.”
The landlady came with a tray of tea and biscuits five minutes later. Dead tired and fast asleep, Rory and Bud never heard her.